


Bedroom Hymns

by Anonymous



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding, Topping from the Bottom, post S1, pre S2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 13:27:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8534980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Sex can be complicated. With these two, even more so.





	

 

The floor tiles bite into Richelieu's knees as he kneels before Treville Neither of them are clothed from the waist upwards, and he can see the slight strain against the material of Treville’s breeches. 

Richelieu leans in, close enough to kiss his erection through the fabric. 

His knuckles brush against Treville’s belly as he unties the knot holding his breeches closed. He slides them down to Treville’s ankles, then leans in again to take him in his mouth.

Treville's cock is thick on his tongue. Richelieu sucks the head gently, guards his teeth. He slides Treville in, staring up at his face. Treville is panting, shivering minutely, but when Richelieu flattens his tongue he jolts and makes a small sound of surprise and arousal that goes instantly to Richelieu’s cock.  

The wet noises Richelieu makes can’t be helped. Treville seems to enjoy them. He tightens his grip on Richelieu’s curls slightly, involuntarily. But his eyes are fixed on the ceiling, and Richelieu does not like that. Treville should be looking at  _him_. That’s part of the appeal of this act, isn’t it? To have someone go to their knees for your pleasure, to see them enjoy it - when Treville takes him in his mouth, Richelieu can never take his eyes of him.  

He makes a small sound, which gets another moan from Treville, but still he doesn’t look. 

Richelieu tries to ignore his own indignation. He wants to please Treville. He wants Treville to watch.  

Thankfully, he still knows what Treville likes. 

Humming around his length doesn’t get the reaction Richelieu is looking for, and neither does curling his tongue under the head, though that makes Treville cry out.  

Finally, Richelieu stills, hands moving to Treville’s arse. He relaxes his mouth, then pulls hard, forcing Treville to slide deep into his throat. It makes him gag slightly - he doesn’t do this often - but when he looks up, his heart lifts.  

Treville’s eyes are wide and staring, an expression of lust and slight wonder on his face.  

For a moment, Richelieu thinks he has succeeded. But then there are hands tugging insistently at his hair and the lust he saw on Treville’s face has fled.  

 “Wait,” he pants, chest heaving. “Stop, I can’t.”  

Richelieu pulls away quickly. Treville looks upset, but Richelieu can’t think what he’s done wrong. The taste of him lingers on his tongue. 

“But-” 

“I can’t,” Treville interrupts.  

Richelieu stands, unable to keep a frown from his face. “Why not?” He had meant for the words to come out a little less accusatory then they sounded. If Treville doesn’t want his company, that’s fine. Obviously, it’s fine.  

“It doesn’t matter,” Treville mumbles. 

“It matters to me,” says Richelieu sharply, trying to ignore the breathlessness in his tone.  

“It shouldn’t.”  

“Who are you to say what should matter to me!”  

“It’s nothing, I just -”

“What?" 

"I can’t look at you like that!” Treville snarls.   

“Then leave, Captain,” Richelieu says coldly. “It seems I was foolish to take you at your word. I assure you, it will not happen again.” 

“My  _word_?” Treville sounds bewildered, which is hardly fair. “What in God’s name are you talking about?” 

What does Treville  _think_  he’s talking about? Perhaps that time a week ago, when Treville had come to him, and said that he didn’t want to be apart from him any more? When Treville had given him more hope then he had ever dreamed of, and kissed him breathless, pressed against the  door of his office?  

Richelieu is suddenly very angry.   

“You were the one who said you wanted to try again,” he says furiously. “You said you were ready. You said,” Richelieu can’t help but choke on the words, on the emotions. “You said you  _wanted_  me.” 

Throat suddenly dry, Richelieu turns away and starts to pace. Treville dresses quickly, still watching him. Once dressed, he replies,

“I do.”  

"You have a funny way of showing it.” 

“I couldn’t sleep.”  

Richelieu can’t help but turn back at Treville’s cold tone. “I beg your pardon?” 

“For three months. All my men could talk about was your defeat, your punishment, your  _bloody execution_ , and all  _I_  could do was  _pray_  her majesty would show more mercy than  _you_  ever have.”  

Treville breaks off, breathing heavily.  

“I couldn’t sleep,” he repeats. “And then when the time came, and you - I thought she would have you  _killed_.”  

There is a slight tinge of defeat in Treville’s voice, and it makes Richelieu’s heart ache to hear it. Of course Treville is still having trouble with the memory. Richelieu still wakes up occasionally, absolutely convinced that the King has discovered his treason and ordered his death. And he has no one to blame for it but himself. How much harder must it be for Treville? 

“So did I,” Richelieu says quietly. 

“I knew that too,” Treville sighs. “So forgive me if I have trouble with the sight of you on your knees.”  

“I had no idea.”  

Treville sits heavily on the edge of the bed, and Richelieu comes over to join him. He takes Treville’s hand. 

“Well, I would say it’s not your fault, but,” Treville jokes weakly. 

“It’s alright,” Richelieu says, quietly. “I quite understand.” What he means is, I’m sorry.  

 

* * *

  

Three weeks go by before Treville returns to Richelieu's bedroom. 

"I'm ready," he says, but as Richelieu moves to kneel, he stops him. "Not for that," Treville says. "Something else." 

"What did you have in mind?" 

And Treville says, "It's been a while since I was fucked."  

Richelieu blinks at him. 

"Do you have any objections?" 

"No!" Richelieu says quickly. "No, no objections."  

"Good," Treville grins, then pulls him in for a deep kiss. Richelieu's hands find his waist automatically, as Treville walks him backwards until the backs of his legs hit something. It's not until Treville pushes him down that Richelieu realises it was the couch Treville was aiming for, rather than the bed. 

“Jean,” he says quickly as Treville pulls away for a brief moment to trail kisses down Richelieu’s neck. “We need something to use -”  _on you_ , he doesn’t say. There’s no way he’s taking Treville without some oil to ease the passage. It would be painful for both of them. 

“It’s alright,” Treville ducks his head, grinning. “I’ve taken care of that already.”  

“What?” He can’t mean... surely he hasn't... 

“I didn’t want to wait,” Treville says, taking Richelieu’s hand and placing it on his lower back. “It might be more fun with company, but I’m quite capable of doing it myself.”  

Treville kisses him then, deep and passionate, as Richelieu slides his hand down Treville’s spine to brush against his hole. 

_Oh. He has._ Richelieu can feel the wetness against his fingers, clear evidence that Treville has indeed, as he said, taken care of it. Part of Richelieu is disappointed that he didn’t get to do it himself. The rest wishes he had been there to see Treville prepare himself to take Richelieu’s cock. Had he bent over his bed, or his desk? Had he taken his time, inserting first one finger, then another, perhaps even more after that? How many fingers did he end up using, burying in his arse, slick with oil, all to make him ready for Richelieu? 

Seeming to read his mind, Treville pulls away smirking. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs, stripping Richelieu’s doublet and shirt away quickly, before reaching down to undo his own breeches. “I’ll make it up to you. I know how you like to watch.”  

With that he straddles Richelieu’s waist, and shrugs out of his shirt, throwing it somewhere behind them without bothering to look. His eyes are dark with lust, and Richelieu gasps as he takes his meaning.  

Treville unlaces Richelieu’s breeches, and Richelieu does his best to cooperate, lifting his hips as Treville pulls them down.  

He’s so hard it’s almost painful, at what he has seen, and what it about to happen.  

Treville reaches between them to guide Richelieu's cock between his legs.  

He slides himself down onto Richelieu slowly. They both gasp as he finally settles in Richelieu's lap, hot and tight around him as always, so deep that Richelieu's balls hit against his arse. Treville throws his head back and groans, bracing himself against the wall.  

“I can’t remember the last time you did this,” Richelieu mutters. 

 “Well,” Treville grunts, “it's harder than you make it look.” 

It’s probably true, Richelieu considers, closing his eyes. He enjoys riding Treville immensely, mainly because of the control it gives him over the angle and depth of penetration. He hasn’t mentioned it to Treville, but it’s definitely one of his favourite positions. 

Opening his eyes again, Richelieu can’t hold back his moans at the sight before him. He can't look away from the point of entry. Treville's thighs are spread wide, quivering with tension, and his nipples are hard. Richelieu doubts it’s from the cold. 

He reaches up to brush one, pleased with the jerk and gasp he gets in response. He brushes the other nipple, and Treville cries out, so Richelieu does it again, and again, until Treville lifts himself up until only the tip of Richelieu is within him. He sinks down fast and hard and it's almost too much, and now it's Richelieu who can't hold back his cries. 

"Oh God, Jean," he chokes, and Treville's manic grin is his only response. 

It would be a lie to say that he’s never seen Treville so hard, but it’s certainly not a sight he’s had the pleasure of seeing for a while.  

Within minutes, the room is echoing with the sound of flesh on flesh and their combined moans. Treville fucks himself on Richelieu’s cock, making him cry out as he clenches around him.

Treville is in control of the pace, arching his back and it’s all Richelieu can do to meet his thrusts and match his rhythm. The muscles of Treville's thighs flex with every movement of his hips, up and down. Richelieu is transfixed. 

He can’t help clutching at Treville, both hands at his waist. Beneath his palms, Treville’s chest is damp with sweat, heaving with exertion. Richelieu can feel his abdominal muscles tense and relax with each thrust. 

Richelieu wants to lick the sweat from his clavicle, wants to bite at the strong arch of his neck, but he can't. 

Treville loosens his grip on Richelieu's shoulder, and slides his hand across to rest lightly on the side of his neck. Can Treville feel his pulse spike? Can he see the desperation in his eyes? 

It’s almost too much. He wants to get to Treville, to touch him, hold on to him.  

“Kiss me,” Richelieu says quickly. 

Treville looks down at him. He stills for a moment, resting in the cradle of Richelieu’s hips. 

Richelieu licks his lip nervously. Treville’s eyes darken, then he growls and surges forward and down to capture Richelieu’s lips with his own. Treville’s fingers are fisting in his hair and tugging insistently but Richelieu gives as good as he gets, grasping Treville’s shoulders and digging his nails in, raking them down the length of his shoulder blades. Treville responds by biting Richelieu’s lip, hard enough to hurt, making him gasp, and Treville takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss. He licks obscenely into Richelieu’s mouth, hand still buried in his curls, keeping him from leaning closer. 

What would he say if Treville let him talk?  _Come closer_ , probably.  _Let me be close to you._

Then again, all he manages when Treville pulls away is a ragged exhalation. The sight before him allows nothing else. 

To see the proud Captain astride his lap, legs spread in wanton abandon as he grinds down to take his cock as deep as he can, is glorious. Soft sounds like a paean, wordless hymns of praise, spill from Richelieu's lips. 

Treville’s fingers trace distracted shapes against the skin of Richelieu’s neck, soft and slow in counterpart to the urgent heat in his eyes. The way he drives himself down on Richelieu is anything but gentle, and Richelieu matches him, thrusting upwards as much as he can. 

Richelieu is reminded of psalms. _If thou wilt, thou canst make me clean_ and something _made manifest. Worship_  and  _praise_  and  _exultation_  and _the fulfillment of the law._ Without conscious decision, his hands reach down. One takes Treville’s hip, the other closes around his cock. 

Richelieu watches as Treville’s head falls back, as he quivers beneath his fingers. He carefully swipes a thumb over the head, gathering the pre-ejaculate and using it to ease his way. 

“Damn you, Armand,” Treville groans. His customary glare is nowhere near as intimidating when combined with the flush of arousal in his cheeks. “I won’t last,” he gasps breathlessly. 

Richelieu’s voice is just as breathless as he replies, “I don’t care.” 

Treville bucks his hips forward into Richelieu’s grip with increasing desperation. Richelieu obliged his need, reaching down to massage his balls. Treville tenses, seizing around Richelieu’s cock like a vice as he comes, spilling his seed over Richelieu’s hip. The sight of Treville wrung out, his muscles trembling and shining with sweat, is too much for Richelieu. He manages one more thrust before coming deep within Treville’s body, moaning as he does. 

Treville raises himself off his cock, then collapses on Richelieu’s chest. Once again, he tangles his fingers in Richelieu’s hair, pulling him in for a sweeter kiss than the last one they shared. 

“Next time, I’ll have you like that,” Richelieu mumbles when Treville pulls away. 

Treville must be tired, because for once he doesn’t look away to hide his smile. “I look forward to it,” he says, eyes half closed. He allows Richelieu to leave the couch on shaky legs to retrieve a washcloth, though he makes a piteous sound at the lack of contact that makes Richelieu want to return instantly, personal hygiene be damned. The sounds Treville makes when Richelieu returns and starts to wash the sweat and fluids from his body more than makes up for it. He returns the favour, and his hands are sure and gentle as he cleans the seed from Richelieu’s belly. 

He throws the cloth to the side when finished, and pulls Richelieu closer as they rearrange themselves to find the most comfortable position. A position that they know well. Sometimes Richelieu wonders if he will ever take their familiarity, their experience at being in each other’s company, for granted. The frisson of delight that runs down his spine as they settle into the couch makes him think not. 

Treville knows how to move his body so that Richelieu can curl on top of  him, and Richelieu knows how to position himself so that he won’t overbalance and fall. They both know how to hold each other in this position without causing pain, or loosing feeling in limbs. 

“I missed you,” Richelieu mutters against the crook of Treville’s neck, punctuating his words with a small, chaste kiss.  

Treville presses his nose into Richelieu’s hair. “I missed you too,” he says. 


End file.
